


Just.

by accidentallybroken



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Metaphors, just. - Freeform, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallybroken/pseuds/accidentallybroken
Summary: He was just. just. Something. He was just something.





	Just.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Take_My_Hand_And_Jump_Into_The_Abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Take_My_Hand_And_Jump_Into_The_Abyss/gifts).



> A long winded explanation on how this came to be-  
> I have trouble expressing myself. In conversations, in direct interactions. I feel like there's a mental block surrounding me and what I'm thinking or feeling. It's hard to explain.  
> I get kind of frustrated, when I can't think of the words to say, or words in "normal" speech. So a friend of mine came up with an idea: write a story about it. A vent. And I suppose that's what all of my works are. Me, on someone else. Writing around what I need to say. Indirectly facing things. A little dance, a facade.  
> However, this one is very specific to me, and what I'm feeling.  
> Hence the word "Just." That word is one I use a lot.

He felt like he was bursting.

 

No, no, that wasn’t right. Bursting was... exploding. Going out. Pushing out. That wasn’t him.

 

He felt like everything inside him was pushing and pulling at the same time, creating his own personal storm. He wasn’t even sure where it came from. It was a lot of  _ nothing _ , warring inside him, making it hard to think and breathe. Like debris. Like smoke. 

 

He was honestly surprised no one had noticed yet. That something wasn’t right inside him, that he wasn’t like them. That he didn’t make sense. He was a war without purpose, with a thin skin that no one saw past. 

 

He wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or upset. Yes, he was doing a good job of hiding it, great job, you’re not burdening anyone. Isn’t that a good thing?

 

But. It just. In a way, he wanted someone to see. Wanted someone to stay, to fix him. 

 

Who could fix him?

 

No engineer can fix a problem that seemingly had no source. He was destined to be a cast-off, in humanity’s junk yard. 

 

Though it was inevitable, he would keep trying, keep hauling himself up so no one would notice he was a faulty machine. A fluke. A glitch. 

 

Maybe he was like everyone, in what he wanted. To be whole. To be seen. Was that what everyone wanted?

 

But how would he ever get what he wanted if he didn’t  _ know _ what he wanted? 

He didn’t even know what he was feeling, couldn’t tell what each thing meaned. Was he upset? Was he tired? Was he happy? Did he feel romantically, platonically? 

 

He was starting to think he was just lonely. Wanting the impossible, whatever form it came in. 

 

He was starting to think he wasn’t made for this. Whatever  _ this  _ was. 

 

_ Stop it, you’re just being dramatic.  _

He was being dramatic. And ungrateful. 

 

He was lucky. None of his parts were broken, he had so many chances to be happy. He was a waste, constantly pulling fuel and attention and just wasting it. 

  
He could do anything. He just didn’t know what  _ ANYTHING _ he wanted. 

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd gift something to you, sorry it's so late.


End file.
